


The Absurd Academy

by Capostrophe



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Crossover, Multi, The Austere Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capostrophe/pseuds/Capostrophe
Summary: If you have heard of a series called Harry Potter, you would be better off reading that instead. Only misery and woe awaits if you read about the Baudelaire children’s time at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Such horrors lie inside as elves that cook lavish dinners, sorting ceremonies, humans with horse bodies and a very dangerous flying sporting match.(AU From the Austere Academy onwards, also AU during Order of the Phoenix year)





	1. Chapter The First

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dreaming about ASOUE a lot since the trailers for the new season came up, and I had one where the Bauds and Quags went to Hogwarts instead of Prufrock Prep. So I've decided to give it a go. 
> 
> It'll follow the events of book the fifth (loosely) as well as the events of Order of the Phoenix as much as it possibly can given the circumstances. This fic will mainly follow the Baudelaires' timeline, in Lemony Snicket style, but it will also follow Harry's timeline loosely, as the events of OOTP will be going on at the same time. Bit ambitious, perhaps, but I'll give it a go. 
> 
> And no, even magic cannot keep Count Olaf away.

**Chapter the First**

 

If you have ever heard the word ‘magic’, it has perhaps conjured up in your mind a poorly-paid actor in a cape with a plastic wand and a deck of playing cards. He—or she—probably pulls rabbits out of hats and astoundingly tells you what card you picked in an enjoyable display of whimsy and wonder, which your parents probably paid far too much to take you to see.

 

I am sorry to tell you this, but the magic you are about to read about is not this kind of magic. Just like science, or English literature, any sort of knowledge you might find fascinating is automatically made boring if you are forced to study it in school. As the magic in this story is studied at school—rigorously, with lots of homework and exams—then it can be of no more interest to you than that maths homework you are currently ignoring in favour of reading fanfiction. And there is therefore no reason you should read this story for even one minute further, as this chapter in the lives of the three Baudelaire orphans features not only the drudgery of learning magic at school, but other horrors, including elves that cook lavish dinners, sorting ceremonies, humans with horse bodies and a very dangerous flying sporting match. I have sworn to do my duty and record every miserable step in the Baudelaire orphans’ miserable journey, but you, as far as I’m aware, have not.  You would do well to turn off whatever e-reader, smartphone, tablet or heinous digital reading device you may be reading this story on, and seek something more cheerful to read.

 

Preferably from a book with real paper.

 

* * *

 

 

The Baudelaire orphans were at a train station. This may sound like old news to some of you, as if you have read and of the woeful tales of the Baudelaires’ lives (and I sincerely hope you haven’t), you’d know that the three children had recently journeyed (a word which here means ‘travelled’) on a train to Paltryville, where they had been put to work in a lumbermill by a man whose face was obscured by a cloud of smoke. You’ve probably met someone like that. If not, you lead a sheltered life. Of course, I sincerely hope you have not delved into that chapter of the Baudelaires’ lives, but I shall probably never know, as you are not reading this right now, and even if you were, you would not be talking to me, because reading is not a telephone.

 

I have lost my train of thought, so I’ll begin again.

 

The Baudelaire orphans were at a train station. Now this may sound—I seem to have blown it. I’ll try one more time.

 

The Baudelaire orphans were at a train station. Still exhausted from their time stripping logs of their bark in Lucky Smells Lumbermill, and in Klaus’s case, woozy from being hypnotised multiple times in the span of a few weeks, none of them were excited about yet another long journey—but when Mr Poe had burst in, announcing he had found them a place in an overseas boarding school, and that they would leave for London in the morning, the children couldn’t quite help feel a twinge of hope. Ever since their parents had perished in a terrible fire, Violet, Klaus and Sunny had been pursued by a dastardly, and terribly-dressed villain named Count Olaf, who’d chased them from guardian to guardian, trying to lay his hands on their enormous fortune. Olaf had found them everywhere they went, fooling guardian after guardian with his ridiculous disguises, and killing anyone who stood in his way—but perhaps, the children thought, by travelling by plane to London, then by train to someplace in the remote countryside of Scotland, the Baudelaires would finally be far enough away that Count Olaf would not be able to find them.

 

They were wrong, of course, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

At this moment, as the Baudelaires stood at the entrance of King's Cross Station, luggage in hand and jet lag threatening to overwhelm them—the phrase ‘jet lag’ here means ‘tiredness after being kept awake by a snoring banker during a seven-hour flight— this small hope of being far away from Count Olaf flickered in each of their minds, and their tiredness and irritation after their long flight began to dwindle.

 

“These in-flight peanuts are truly superb,” said Mr Poe, pulling yet another package he’d pilfered from the flight out of his pocket and tearing it open. Half the contents immediately fell to the ground. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a packet, Baudelaires? A bit of protein might keep your strength up for the journey ahead!”

 

“Hypogaea,” Sunny said, which probably meant something along the lines of “A tiny packet of nuts won’t do much for our strength, especially as you kept us awake the whole flight snoring!”

 

Her siblings, while usually quick to translate for their baby sister, chose to keep the meaning of this comment from the banker.

 

“I know why you’re all so quiet,” Mr Poe said. “It’s because you’re excited, and I don’t blame you. I always wanted to go to boarding school when I was younger, but I never had the chance. I’m a little jealous of you, if you want to know the truth.”

 

The Baudelaires looked at one another. While “excited” is a pertinent word to describe how one might feel before one’s birthday party, or before a new season of their favourite Netflix original series is released for streaming, it did not describe how the children felt about their current situation. Being at a boarding school—especially one they knew nothing about, in a country they had never visited, in a part of the world with that had been described to them as a dismal climate—was only making them feel nervous. The only thing that had kept them from turning and rushing for the nearest flight back to their own hometown was the thought that, at least if they had nothing, they would be far away from villainous actors, and even then that hope was small.

 

“You’re very lucky to be here,’ Mr Poe continued. “I had to call more than four schools before I found one that could take all three of you at such short notice. Prufrock Prep, it was called, and I was just lifting my pen to sign the paperwork when the most unusual thing happened. An enormous owl flew through my office window, carrying a letter in its mouth! Now, as intelligent children, you should know that owls are strictly forbidden from entering bank premises, so I had a good mind to shoo it away. But then it passed me the letter and flew off before I had the chance!”

 

Violet frowned. “What was in the letter? And why would someone deliver it by owl?”

 

Owls, in fact, are quite handy for delivering mail, as well as keeping pesky mice away from your bedroom. Carrier crows have also known to be handy for sending messages in an emergency. I myself once dropped a top secret note inside a small, compact vessel I had stolen from a very important tea set, and an owl and a crow together bore it away to the woman I loved.

 

“The letter,” Mr Poe said, having paused to cough during my monologue just now, “instructed me that all three of you had been offered a place at Hogwarts, one of the most prestigious schools in the world! The funny thing is, I don’t remember putting your names down there! But, an owl did send me the letter, and it’s always a good idea to trust birds with envelopes in their beaks.”

 

It is not, of course, always a good idea to trust birds with envelopes in their beaks. An envelope in a bird’s beak may contain worms they wish to feed to you as if you were their young, or a nasty note from your enemies, or a poem by Pablo Neruda, with a personalised love note on the back from a pretentious romantic who believes you are the future mother of his children. The Baudelaires would learn, very soon, that not all bird-delivered mail was a fortunate occurrence.

 

“But who signed the letter? Who signed us up? And why did you choose this school when you already had us down for another one? And why would a school be called Hogwarts?” Klaus asked.

 

“Klaus, you are very inquisitive for such a young boy,” Mr Poe said, using a word which here means ‘full of questions’. “The letter was signed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts School, a Professor Albus…Dumblybum…er…Bumbledum…Dumble…oh, I’m sure he’ll allow you to call him Dumby.”

 

The Baudelaires looked at each other, unable to imagine any Headmaster of any prestigious school allowing them to call him ‘Dumby’. However, they felt this was probably not the time to say so, especially when they had one more important question to ask. The three children looked at each other. Violet raised her eyebrow. Klaus nodded. Sunny began chewing her luggage tag. And in this way, they silently agreed.

 

“Mr Poe?” Violet began tentatively. “I know we’re travelling very far away from home…”

 

“You’ll soon get over your homesickness, Violet! I’m surprised at you! A big girl of your age still worrying about that…anyway, I should think with your home having been burned to the ground, you’d have nothing to miss!”

 

“I’m _not_ worried about homesickness,” Violet tried again, irritated, and restraining herself from reacting to Mr Poe’s insensitive comments about her family home, “I’m worried about Count Olaf! Even overseas, is there still a chance he could find us?”

 

“Don’t you worry your little heads about Count Olaf,” Mr Poe said, in what he likely thought was a soothing tone. “In the reply I sent by carrier pigeon, I informed Headmaster…um…Dumby about Count Olaf, and sent a detailed description—everything from his one long eyebrow to the tattoo of an eye on his left ankle. I was informed, by a note that popped through my fireplace just before we left, that the staff would be taking every precaution to prevent Count Olaf from entering the grounds. They are magic, after all, so I’m sure they have their ways of keeping you safe.”

 

The expression ‘you could have heard a pin drop’ is an odd one. Not many people sit around and listen for pins falling from the sky. But people often use this expression when referring to a stunned silence so quiet that bystanders would be able to hear a pin drop, if someone bothered to bring along a pin, hold it up high and throw it to the ground in a tantrum.

 

I am sorry to use this obnoxious expression, but it is a good way to describe the stunned silence that followed when Mr Poe delivered this news to the Baudelaires. Mr Poe replying by carrier pigeon and receiving a response through his fireplace was odd enough to process, but when the banker had used the words ‘they are magic’ as casually as if he were saying ‘they are acrobats,’ or ‘they are firemen,’ it made the children freeze in their tracks.

 

“What do you mean…” Klaus began finally, after finding his tongue again, “they’re _magic?!_ Do you mean they’re magicians?”

 

“Don’t be silly, Klaus. Magicians don’t run schools, they perform card tricks. Surely a boy of your age knows that.”

 

“Then what do you mean _magic_?!” Violet tried. “How can they be magic?”

 

“I don’t have time to explain all this to you, children,” Mr Poe shook his head, straightened his top hat and coughed a few times into his handkerchief, “I’m already missing several days of work just to bring you over here, and I really must be getting back to the bank as soon as possible. I’m sure your teachers will explain it all to you when you get there.”

 

He reached out and patted each of the children on the head.

 

“Now, here are your train tickets. They all read ‘Platform 9 ¾,’ which I assume is where the Hogwarts Express departs. If you have any concerns at all, you may reach me at the bank. I’ve been informed there are no telephones at Hogwarts, but you may send me a message by owl if you so desire.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” Klaus said. “We don’t know how to send messages by owl! And I’ve read all about Kings’ Cross Station, and I don’t think there’s such a platform as 9 ¾!”

 

“If it’s printed on a ticket, it must be true,” Mr Poe said crossly. “Now run along and get your train, children. I’m sure you’ll have a jolly time at an old English boarding school. Midnight feasts and that kind of thing.”

 

“I thought you said it was in Scotland,” Klaus said.

“And what do you mean magic?!” Violet tried one final time, but Mr Poe had already disappeared off into the street, his coughs echoing behind him.

 

The children stood at the edge of the platform, gazing at their unusual tickets, their heads swimming with confusion.

 

“McNaughton,” Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of “Mr Poe’s finally gone loopy.”

 

And so the Baudelaire orphans found themselves, half an hour later, still waiting at a train station, with tickets that didn’t make sense, about to travel to a school where the teachers were supposedly magic, and all communication depended on unpredictable nocturnal birdlife.

 

All three of them hoped desperately that this was a dream, and they would wake up still on their flight, heading to a normal boarding school, which Mr Poe would explain to them without using the words ‘magic’ or ‘owl.’

 

I am sorry to say that it was not.

 


	2. Chapter the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has taken so long, but work has been hectic. Now it's settled down a bit, I'll be pushing to update more regularly. 
> 
> This issue contains such woes as a hidden platform, a hostile stranger, and a mimbulus mimbletonia.

**Chapter The Second**

If you have ever been stranded alone at a train station, you will know it is not a pleasant situation to be in. If it is crowded, you are surrounded by strangers pushing past you to make their trains, and if it is empty, there is always the fear you will get mugged, and I cannot say in any certainty which is worse.

For the Baudelaires, being stranded at King's Cross Station was even worse than either of these two situations, because they had been left all alone with instructions that did not make sense. When you travel by train, I assume you have with you a ticket with a reliable platform number and destination printed on it, or, failing that, an electronic card which allows you to tap on or off at any platform you desire, and travel to your preferred destination without the hassle of talking to a ticket seller at all. But Violet, Klaus and Sunny only had paper tickets with 'Platform 9 ¾', and after searching up and down the station, and hovering around platforms 9 and 10 for long enough, they were becoming increasingly convinced that such a platform did not exist, it never had, and Mr Poe had been swindled.

"Such a platform does not exist," Klaus said.

"Nuncaha," Sunny said, which probably meant something like "it never has."

"Mr Poe's been swindled," said Violet. She glanced down at her ticket again, then up at the station clock.

"It's ten-thirty now," she observed. "And our ticket says the train leaves at eleven. We might still make it if we ask a guard."

"Somehow I don't think any station guard is going to believe us," Klaus sighed. "If we went to them with a ridiculous story about a non-existent platform and a school that a banker told us was magic, they'd react the same way as…"

'As if we told the authorities Count Olaf in disguise was Count Olaf in disguise," said Violet ruefully.

'Ruefully' is a word which here means 'full of rue', and 'rue' is a word which here means 'bitter regret.' Violet Baudelaire bitterly regretted getting on that plane with her siblings, even if she hadn't had much of a choice, and she bitterly regretted finding herself at King's Cross without a clue what to do, just as I bitterly regret all the many nights I have spent poring over old letters from my dearest Beatrice and staining them with my tears, while a manuscript I solemnly pledged to write about the lives of three children made its way into the hands of unsuspecting readers around the globe.

"What do we do then?" Violet continued, for I am sure at that moment she was not interrupted by my reverie, as you just were if you happen to have the misfortune to be reading this tale on whatever woeful electronic device you own. "We're stranded at a train station in another country with no way to get back! The banker in charge of our affairs has gone off back home, and even if we find a telephone and reverse the charges, we won't get through to him until he gets back to Mulctuary Money Management, and that could take days!"

"Matematika!" Sunny shrieked, which probably meant "and even then, we'd be making an international call, and we don't know the right area code!"

"It's hopeless." Klaus kicked his suitcase. "We might as well face it—we're stranded here until either someone picks us up and takes us to the police, we get kidnapped and sold into slavery, or until Olaf finally catches up with us and then we and our fortune are in his clutches!" Hot tears fogged up behind Klaus's glasses. He hastily wiped them away and slumped against the wall.

But instead of finding himself leaning against hard brick, Klaus found himself toppling, falling through the air as his body tried to rest on what now felt like nothing more than empty air.

"Klaus!" Violet squealed, as her brother disappeared through the wall.

"Klaus!" Sunny shrieked as her brother fell away into nothingness.

The two Baudelaire sisters stared at the empty spot where Klaus had once been standing, and at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, where their brother had once been leaning, and immediately, Violet began to panic.

"He's gone! Where could he go?! It's a trap! Maybe Olaf was the one that sent that letter to Mr Poe by owl—and I bet on the other side of that wall are all his henchpeople just waiting to take us away!"

Sunny, meanwhile, was staring at the brick wall intently—a word which here means, 'with an idea forming in her tiny head.' And before the final syllable of her panic left Violet's lips, the youngest Baudelaire was crawling towards the wall with determination.

"Sunny!" Violet cried, as her baby sister went the same way as her brother—by 'went the same way', I do not mean she simply travelled in the same direction; instead I mean 'disappeared through the same wall,' and if you have ever watched your siblings disappear through the wall in front of you one after the other without warning, firstly, you are related to some very strange, ghostly beings, and secondly, you will understand the anguish Violet was feeling at that moment.

A wise old submarine captain who was an acquaintance of mine—or perhaps he was not so wise, depending on how you look at it, once told me that he who hesitates is lost.  _Or she_ , her stepdaughter would be quick to add, completing what we might call a  _motto_ , or a phrase by which one prefers to live one's life. Hesitating, however, is not necessarily something one should avoid in order to live a fulfilling life. Hesitating when a group of villainous actors are chasing your through a dark and treacherous forest, for example, would certainly be disastrous. Hesitating when a villainous woman offers you a drink you suspect has been laced with a truth potion, on the other hand, until someone else bursts into the room and distracts her, might just save your life. ("Foreshadowing" is a useful word, and one that comes into play here, but it is one that we shall leave now for the time being. With any luck you will not be around to work out exactly  _how_  it comes into play).

It is hard for me to say whether Violet Baudelaire hesitating was a good thing. I have travelled to Kings Cross Station to retrace the steps of the Baudelaire orphans in this miserable chapter of their lives. I have stood before the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, in the exact spot Violet Baudelaire herself stood while watching her siblings disappear, but even this extensive level of research could not tell me whether her pause ultimately aided her. Violet reached out towards the barrier herself, then stopped, tying her hair up in a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes.

Upon ascertaining, however, that there was nothing around her which could become part of an invention, Violet untied her hair again and took a tentative step towards the wall, then another, then another. Closing her eyes—for as you surely know, when there is something unpleasant one must do, robbing oneself of one's sight can make it more bearable—Violet took a step forward into the brick wall.

A strange sensation enveloped the eldest Baudelaire, as if she were somehow passing through the scratchiness of solid brick, and yet somehow passing through nothing at all. Violet did not dare open her eyes, for fear she might somehow end up stuck inside the barrier, so she stepped forward again, feeling the brick texture disappear from around her.

She reached out, and finding nothing but air around her on all sides, Violet Baudelaire opened her eyes.

At this point, dear reader, I must stop you and urge you to turn your attentions to a far less upsetting story than this one, read from a far less upsetting platform than the screen of an electronic device. Everything that lies ahead for the Baudelaires is steeped in misery, from their treacherous train journey to the sordidly strange school they would find themselves in at the end of it. Even moments the Baudelaires believe to be wonderful or magical are actually woeful and miserable. From here on in, magic shall be used, and that is not as whimsical as it sounds, I can promise you. And so this is a good point to press the "off" button on whatever phone, laptop, tablet, Kindle or other egregious ereader you may be using, and take your chances with a real book instead.

* * *

 

When Violet Baudelaire opened her eyes, the first thing she spotted, of course, was the thing she was most anxious about—her siblings. A few feet away, Klaus stood completely unharmed, clutching Sunny in his arms and looking bewildered—a word which here means "confused and yet somehow amazed at being alive and on the other side of what had appeared to be a solid brick wall."

Ignoring the rush of dizziness that overcame her (for if you have ever travelled through a brick wall, you will know how disorienting it is the first time), the eldest Baudelaire fell upon her brother and sister in relief.

"Klaus! Sunny! I thought this might have been a trap, and that Olaf would have all of us in his clutches by sundown!"

"I suspected that too, at first," Klaus said thoughtfully, "but when the initial shock wore off…Violet, look where we are!"

Violet glanced around, noticing for the first time that she had emerged onto another train platform—and not just any platform. It may have been the large crowd of children milling around, grinning and waving to their parents, it may have been the enormous scarlet locomotive (a pretentious word here meaning "train") belching smoke into the air, or it may have been the large sign reading  _9 ¾_ , but it began to dawn on the Baudelaire orphans that, just maybe, Platform 9 ¾ was real after all, and Hogwarts School might just be a real place and not some figment of Mr Poe's imagination.

"But if there really is a Platform 9 ¾…" Violet said slowly, "and we just walked through a wall to get here…do you think that means Mr Poe was right about…"

"Plausible," said Sunny, which probably meant something along the lines of "it's possible."

Klaus, however, was frowning, his brow furrowed.

"This platform is cleverly disguised,  _yes_ ," he said, "but do you  _really_  think that means we're dealing with—"

But the last word of Klaus's sentiment was not worded, for at that moment he was shoved violently aside.

"Out of my way,  _squibs_ ," said a rude, violent boy, pushing the Baudelaires apart as if they were dominoes and barging through.

Klaus jumped back, rubbing his shoulder and staring at the intruder with surprise. The boy was thin, his blond hair slicked back to emphasise a pointed chin that gave him a haughty and disdainful air. His clothes were odd—black and billowing, almost like a robe, although Klaus could not deign to admit that it looked very much like a wizard's getup—and he turned back to glare at the Baudelaire orphans with a cold blue stare. If Count Olaf had been wealthier, and a youngster bound for a potentially magical school, Klaus couldn't help thinking, he would have looked like this boy.

Klaus turned to Violet, but before a single word could escape his mouth, the two elder Baudelaires were shoved apart again as two thickset goons—after all their experiences with Olaf and his troupe, the word "henchmen" couldn't help but appear in his mind—lumbered after the first boy. The two goons were dressed in robes too—now the Baudelaires saw it, they realised over half the children on the platform were wearing the odd garments.

Violet and Klaus stepped closer together, leaning down to pick Sunny up and hold her close to them. There was something about this trio that unnerved the orphans, as though something sinister could occur just from being near them.

The thin boy with the pointed chin paused, then turned back towards the orphans.

"I can't believe Dumbledore has stopped this low. Allowing filthy  _squibs_  to come to Hogwarts. If my father knew about this I'd have been out of here and on the next ship to Durmstrang."

From his words, and the grunts of agreement from either side of him, the boy appeared to be talking to his goons, although his cold eyes never left the Baudelaires. They moved up and down, taking in the orphans' ordinary clothes, their suitcases, their bedraggled state, shining disdain on everything they took in.

If you have ever been silently but obviously judged, dear readers, you can imagine the thoughts going through the Baudelaires' heads. Your own experiences, however, may not encompass the confusion that came from hearing so many odd new words. Violet, Klaus and Sunny exchanged glances. Although they had not understood half of what the boy had said, they were all equally sure the words they had just heard were not pleasantries.

"Well don't just stand there gawking,  _squibs_ ," the boy said, now directly addressing the Baudelaires, the word "squibs" said with so much bile he was practically spitting venom. "Don't they teach you to be respectful to your betters where you come from? Oh. Of course they don't. No more than beasts, Muggles, aren't they? Squibs are no better."

The other two boys began to snicker at this.

"Well. With any luck you'll be on the train home within…I'd give it an hour, how about you, Crabbe? Goyle?"

The henchmen, or as I shall refer to them now, Crabbe and Goyle, stared blankly at the boy, who shook his head, turned on his heel and marched away. The other two sloped off after him, leaving three very confused orphans in their wake.

"What are squibs?" Violet wondered aloud.

"What are Muggles?" Klaus echoed, although both of them were sure what they had just heard was in no way complimentary.

"Dumby?" Sunny said, which probably meant, "Could Dumbledore have been the name of the Headmaster whose name Mr Poe couldn't pronounce?"

"Could be, Sunny," Violet said, stroking her hair. "We can't be sure."

"We can't be sure any of this has to do with  _magic_ ," Klaus scoffed.

The phrase "getting one one's hobby horse" refers to someone who continues to return to a subject they are obsessed with. And this question of magic, even though countless youngsters around the Baudelaires were wearing odd robes, and some were even carrying carved bits of wood that suspiciously resembled wands, even though they had just walked through a solid brick wall, was becoming an obsession for Klaus, who believed firmly that everything one could know about the world could be found either within the pages of a factual tome (a word which here means "book"), or within the realms of logic.

Klaus refused to believe in magic as the whistle went off, and the Baudelaire orphans boarded the train. He refused to believe it as they traipsed through the corridors in search of a compartment, receiving odd stares from many of the children in robes, being completely ignored by others. And he refused to believe it right up until the moment he nearly walked face-first into a large, wriggling, pulsating cactus.

"Oh! Sorry," said the round-faced boy holding the hideous plant in his arms. "Don't mind the  _mimbulus mimbletonia_."

If you are curious, dear reader, as to what a  _mimbulus mimbletonia_  might be, the identity of the young man holding it, and what else the Baudelaires endured on their way to Hogwarts School, let me warn you now: don't be. Nothing good comes from the pages…or rather, the electronic scrollings…of this story. While Klaus may not be willing to believe in magic, you should be  _very_  willing to avoid the perils it creates.

And so I must urge you, one more time, to shut down your device of choice, and turn to something more pleasant, or I shall say the incantation for a bewitched sleep, so that you doze through the rest of it. As I look at the chapters to come, and I weep over the research I have collected, whilst dodging the jinxes of enemies left and right, I must urge you one final time: turn off the device you are holding in your hands, or soon you will be weeping too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read the next chapter, for it contains such woes as a magical school, a start-of-term feast, a boy with a lightning scar and the return of an unwelcome foe.


	3. Chapter The Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about yet another delay! It's very hard to find the motivation to write at home when you work as a copywriter and get a bit burnt out on writing. I've been working on a lot of this fic though so there should be a few chapters incoming in the next few weeks. This one's a bit filler-y, but covers some necessary introductions.

 

 

**Chapter the Third**

 

I once travelled to Scotland in search of the Baudelaire orphans. I traced the path of the Hogwarts Express, from Kings Cross Station to the site of a deserted castle that is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unfortunately, I could not go any further. I am a Muggle—a word which here means “I cannot see the castle, and am forced instead to gaze upon the illusion of a crumbling ruin, and weep at my failure to go any further.” My research on the three children has therefore come from other means—asking around, hiding at dinner banquets disguised as a suckling pig so I could overhear conversations, fleeing in the night when someone tried to stick their fork in me—and so it has taken me a long time to compile it, and piece together the entire story of the Baudelaire’s sorrowful stay at Hogwarts.

 

But while I am merely doing my duty by recording each of their steps, you are bound by no such obligation, and I must beg you once more to remove yourself from this tale, before your misery and sorrow become so great that you are tempted to remove yourself from this world out of sheer despair from having read it.

 

* * *

 

 

“What’s a _mimbulus mimbletonia?”_  Klaus asked. Although still sceptical about magic, the thought of a scientific term he did not already know—on top of coming face to face with a plant species he had never even read about—was too much temptation for a researcher to bear. He reached for the hideous cactus the round-faced boy was holding, then hesitated (my sea captain friend would shudder at the thought) and withdrew it. Klaus Baudelaire may be in a strange situation, but he was logical, after all, and there was no telling what dangers a strange, oddly animate cactus may hold. It was pulsating in a sinister way, after all.

 

“It won’t bite you,” said the round-faced boy cheerfully. “My great uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria this summer—this is the worst it’ll do, look…”

 

Placing his toad upon his suitcase—it was testament  to the strangeness of the cactus he held that the Baudelaires only noticed at this moment that he _had_ a toad—the boy reached into his pocket, producing a rather old-fashioned feather pen.

 

“Do you need a proper biro?” Violet inquired. “I could invent you a much more effective—”

 

“What’s a biro?” the boy was staring at her, brow furrowed with confusion. “Must be a Muggle invention—anyway, look at its defence mechanism…”

 

 _Muggle?_ Violet and Klaus mouthed to each other.

 _Mugulo_? Sunny mouthed to her older siblings, which probably meant _Muggle?_

 

And then, without warning, there was a horrific squelching sound, and a dark green jet of stinking liquid squirted forth from the cactus, drenching the three unfortunate orphans. Now, as you may know, if you are drenched in some liquids, it is of no consequence. Being drenched in water may be unpleasant, but it will do little more than make you wet. Being drenched in lemonade may be unpleasant and sticky. Being drenched in petrol may be unpleasant, sticky, and downright dangerous, especially if you are a house and there are villains lurking around who may be carrying a supply of matches. If you are a house, by the way, congratulations on learning to read, although I must wonder why you have taken up the endeavour.

 

Being squirted by the _mimbulus mimbletonia_ was not as dangerous as being drenched in petrol,  but it was a wet, unpleasant, sticky and unfortunately smelly experience. All three Baudelaires winced. It would have been reasonable of them to assume, given their past history with wicked villains and villainous wicked people, and judging by their earlier encounter with the pointed-chinned boy and his goons, that this incident had been deliberate, an attempt to make the children feel unwelcome. That is, had the boy himself not been drenched from head to torso in the same sticky, foul-smelling sap, and had he not been gazing them with an expression of embarrassment and remorse.

 

“Sorry!” he spluttered, wiping his hand across his mouth as a droplet of the substance fell from the tip of his nose onto his tongue. “I’ve never done that before…I didn’t realise it’d be so… don’t worry though,” the faintest hint of a smile crossed his face. “Stinksap’s not poisonous.”

 

“Stinksap?” Klaus finally ventured, getting his voice back after the shock of the incident.

“What _is_ that plant?” Violet asked.  
“Mugulo?” Sunny asked again, which meant something of the lines of “what does ‘Muggle’ mean?”

 

“Sorry,” said the round-faced boy again, “I sort of forgot you’ve come from the Muggle world…the letters came round late, see, with the book lists…I can explain everything to you, only I’m not sure I’m the right person to do that…

 

The Baudelaires frowned. What on earth was the ‘Muggle world’? What had letters to do with it, and why were people all receiving mysterious letters about the orphans’ future, when they themselves were so unaware of what was to come? What was this sinister substance currently covering them, that this boy had referred to as ‘Stinksap’? And, perhaps most importantly of all, what were these book lists, and why had the Baudelaires not been given any?

 

“I think…I think you’d better come with me,” the round-faced boy said, and with an awkward wave for the Baudelaires to join him, he turned and ambled off down the corridor of the train. Confused and covered in Stinksap, but somewhat relieved to at least have found a face friendly enough to give them the time of day, the three orphans followed.

 

“Hey, Ginny!” the boy called, sliding open the door to a comparatively empty (a phrase which here means, it contained only five other people, and thus had just enough room for the Baudelaires to slip inside) compartment. “I’ve found the other three!”

 

“Other three?” Klaus mouthed to Violet, before being hit in the face with an odd blast.

Klaus blinked. Where the foul-smelling sap had once been, the middle Baudelaire found himself fresh and clean—perhaps he would have dared to venture cleaner than he had been _before_ he had been squirted by an unfriendly cactus.

 

“Sorry about that,” said a red-haired girl with a playful expression. “I suppose Neville hasn’t really explained anything to you— _Scourgify!”_ It was only at that moment the Baudelaire orphans noticed the carved, polished stick she held in her hand, and that the odd blasts of air, by which Violet and Sunny had now also been hit, were coming from its tip.

 

“Thank you,” Violet said as she found herself clean and dry once more, although she was unsure if this was an appropriate response, given she had just been set upon with what appeared to be a magic wand. She cast a glance at Klaus, who was peering at the wand in disbelief. It can be difficult to convince oneself that what one thought was real and what one thought wasn’t, may in fact be topsy turvy, and that is precisely the dilemma Klaus Baudelaire was facing at this exact moment.

I once found it difficult to believe that a grown man could fit convincingly inside a puppy costume, but then I found myself in a cage on a plane, barking to convince the authorities of my puppyhood so I might board a plane without arrest, and I can assure you now, dear reader, that I was successful.

 

“Tiga?” Sunny asked. The round-faced boy, who the Baudelaires now assumed must be Neville, and who had just closed the door behind them and set his _mimbulus mimbletonia_ lovingly in an empty seat, furrowed his brow.

 

“What’s tiga?”

 

“What my sister means,” Violet explained, as Klaus was still in the midst of his existential crisis and too busy refusing to believe in magic to answer, “is what did you mean by ‘the other three’?”

 

“You mean you don’t know?” The red-haired girl, who from Neville’s cry earlier must have been Ginny, was looking at them incredulously, a word which here means, she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, much as Klaus Baudelaire couldn’t quite believe the magic he was seeing, despite it being right before his eyes.

 

“We don’t know a great deal,” Violet said apologetically. “Mr Poe—that’s the banker in charge of our affairs—left us at the station with tickets to this train, and told us we were attending Hogwarts just before he left.”

 

Neville and Ginny’s faces were agog.

 

“You mean you don’t know…about magic? Are you even…”

 

“Don’t gape at them, Neville. It’s unbecoming.” This came from a new voice joining the conversation, which belonged to an odd-looking girl with a mane of blonde hair, who happened to be reading a magazine upside-down. She gave the Baudelaires what I can only describe as a serene smile, and went back to her paper.

 

“We got a letter,” Ginny finally explained, “along with the usual letters we get at the start of term, explaining that five orphans from the Muggle—the non-magic—world would be joining us this year, and we were to help them in any way we could.”

 

All three Baudelaires were thinking the same thing— _five?_ (or in Sunny’s case, _lima_? Which meant something along the lines of _five_?) but before anyone could voice their confusion another voice entered the fray.

“About the only letter I got _at all_ , this summer,” said a miserable voice, and the Baudelaires turned to get a proper look at the final three people in their compartment.

 

A moody, black-haired boy a little older than Violet was slumped in one seat, his glasses a tad askew and a rather unusually-shaped scar on his forehead. Although he was dressed in the same robes as most of the train’s occupants, his two companions, the Baudelaires were almost relieved to see, were not. Dressed in thick wool sweaters and clutching dark-coloured notebooks to their chests as if their lives depended on it, a dark-haired boy and a dark-haired girl, who were at first glance identical, smiled up at the Baudelaires, and the three orphans knew immediately that these were the other two non-magic orphans.

 

It is a curious feeling, meeting a kindred spirit for the first time. When you have gone through a tragedy (and I sincerely hope you have not, although the world being the way it is, it is highly likely that you will at some point in your life), and you meet someone who has gone through a similar tragedy, you are connected by something that ordinary, cheery people with no misery and woe in their lives cannot possibly understand. And so it was that the Baudelaires laid eyes on two people who would come to be their closest compatriots (a word which here means “friends”) in the months to come, and one person who would perhaps annoy them a little, but would become a useful ally because of his own experiences with a treacherous villain.

 

The Baudelaires and the two non-magic orphans sensed at once the connection between them, but having never met, and finding themselves in such odd circumstances, meeting for the first time on the way to a magical school, surrounded by aspiring wizards and people who sent their mail by owl instead of crow or carrier pigeon like normal people, they were unsure how an appropriate introduction should go.

Violet ventured a tentative smile, which the sweatered boy returned.

Klaus ventured a tentative smile, which the sweatered girl returned.

Sunny opened her fanged mouth to say “odo yow”, her way of saying “how do you do?” but was interrupted by Ginny, who had taken it upon herself to tell off the scarred boy.

“Oh, leave off, Harry! Dumbledore _told_ Ron and Hermione they couldn’t breathe a word of what was happening in the Order this summer, and it’s nothing to do with the Baudelaires!”

Not a great deal of this made sense to the Baudelaires, except their name, and _Dumbledore_ , which they had come to realize must be the name Mr Poe could not pronounce.

 

The scarred boy, who must have been Harry, shot her a glare, but upon noticing the Baudelaires’ perplexed (a word which here means “confused”) expressions, calmed.

“It was all pretty strange for me when I first started at Hogwarts. I was just telling the Quagmires, I didn’t know anything about magic either—but it’s great, isn’t it?”

“I’ve read so many books on optical illusions and magic tricks,” Klaus said, unconsciously straightening his glasses at the same time as Harry, “and it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Don’t try and get it to make sense,” said the odd-looking blonde girl, looking up from her upside-down paper for a moment. “Life’s not supposed to.”

“Our life doesn’t, that’s for sure,” said Violet. The children in the carriage around them may have seemed odd, they may have read magazines upside-down and carried spitting cacti and performed spells, but the Baudelaires had the sense they could be trusted, and if they could find some support in this odd world, it might be the first fortunate thing that had happened to them in a long time.

“You see,” she continued, “out of nowhere earlier this year, our parents died in a terrible fire.”

The Baudelaires had not had a chance to tell somebody this themselves. Their former guardians had already been informed of Count Olaf before their arrival, and they had really had little chance to properly talk to someone around their own ages about the miseries that had befallen them. Telling someone herself for the first time brought tears to Violet’s eyes, but she brushed them away, determined to carry on. She paused, however, on seeing the faces of her audience.

Rather than giving her and her siblings a look of sympathy, Ginny, Neville, Harry and the blonde girl had all turned to stare at the two sweatered orphans in disbelief.

“Should I have not said…” Violet began, but she was cut off by the sweatered boy.

“Our parents died in a fire as well.”

It was as if the world had stopped (although of course, it had not. That would be preposterous).

Two other orphans, also from the ordinary (or as the Baudelaires realized they should start referring to it the Muggle) world, had arrived on the same train as they had, having lost their parents in the same way.

Violet took a step towards them, and the sweatered boy immediately held out his hand.

“I’m Duncan, by the way,” he said as Violet took it and shook it. “Duncan Quagmire—and this is my sister, Isadora.”

Violet hastily introduced herself and her siblings, anxious to find out more about how Duncan and Isadora had ended up in the same situation as herself.

“ _My_ parents died, too,” Harry interjected crossly.

The Baudelaires gaped.

“In a fire?” Klaus asked.

“No, but—”

“ _Harry_ ,” Ginny said, reaching over and taking his arm. “Let the Baudelaires and Quagmires have a chance to share their stories first. They’ve gone through I lot—”

“ _I_ was the one who saw Cedric—”

“In a _minute_ ,” said Ginny firmly.

Violet, Klaus and Sunny hesitated, unsure whether they should go on without hearing what Harry had to say first. But when they glanced over at the reassuring smiles of the Quagmires, and curious as to how they had both lost their parents in the same dreadful circumstances, they decided to, as Ginny had put it, share their story.

Violet told of their time from Briny Beach, when they were informed that their parents had perished in a terrible fire, and of their cherished time with Uncle Monty, tragically cut short by a murder disguised as a snakebite. Klaus narrated their time with Aunt Josephine, and their recent woes being forced to work at the Lucky Smells Lumbermill. And Sunny, with translation from their siblings, wove the thread that linked their tale together—a phrase which here means, explained all about Count Olaf, and how he had chased them from one place to another relentlessly in pursuit of their enormous fortune.

At this point, Harry could hold himself together no longer.

“Count Olaf? Is he the Muggle Voldemort?!”

“Who’s Voldemort?” Klaus asked, noticing as he did so that Neville shuddered whenever the strange name was mentioned.

“Lord Voldemort,” Harry repeated the name with disdain, and a certain air of rebellion as the others all shuddered again, “killed my parents—and countless others. He tried to kill me countless times—and he was in hiding, but now he’s back, and I saw him, no matter what the _Daily Prophet_ tries to make out!”

There was anger in the boy’s voice, and the Baudelaires couldn’t help seeing the parallels between their own situation and Harry’s.

“Nobody believes us about Count Olaf, either,” Violet said. “No matter how transparent his disguises are, people are so quick to believe his words over ours, and he’s gotten away with murdering our guardians because of it.”

Harry’s demeanour had softened towards the Baudelaires now. “I wonder if Count Olaf and Lord Voldemort are the same person. It makes sense that he would find his way into the Muggle world too.”

The Baudelaires couldn’t help thinking the same thing. Both treacherous villains, both with preposterous titles that seemed to inflate their egos, both determined to pursue innocent orphans…what if Voldemort was Count Olaf? It made them shudder to think their archnemesis could be capable of performing magic—it made him all the more dangerous, although it did make sense as to why he could find them so easily.  (He was not of course. Lord Voldemort, as the Baudelaires would discover, was a whole other kettle of fish, an expression which here means he was quite a different person, but brought his own brand of treachery to plague the lives of unfortunate orphans. Those miseries will come in time, although I fervently hope you will not still be reading. )

The Baudelaires turned to the Quagmires.

“Is there someone following you too?” Violet asked.

“In disguise?” Klaus added.

“Nominus?” Sunny said, which probably meant “how many names can one treacherous villain have?”

“No-one’s following us,” Isadora said, “but we’re not in a hurry for anyone to be. We lost more than just our parents—our brother, Quigley, was killed in the fire too.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, and Klaus instinctively reached out to touch her arm.

“It’s terrible losing someone you love so much, isn’t it?” Violet said.

“Terrible,” said Harry.

“Terrible,” said Duncan.

“Terrible,”  said Klaus.

“Jelek,” said Sunny, which probably meant  “terrible.”

The Baudelaires put their hands on the Quagmires. Harry put his hands on Violet and Klaus. And Neville, Ginny and even the odd girl with the paper (who would later introduce herself as Luna, but that moment is so unimportant to the story that I shall not bother to describe it, as we have had enough introductions for three orphans to cope with just now), stepped forward and put their hands on the whole group.

For a moment the six orphans and three fortunately parent-having (or in Neville’s case, grandmother-having, but the woes of Neville and Luna would not be uncovered until long after their friends could get a word in edgeways in a conversation with Harry ) children stood together, and the Baudelaires felt a sense of solidarity they had not truly experienced since long before their parents perished that fateful day.

And all of a sudden, even though they still were not fully sure why they were in the wizarding world, nor what would befall them, nor indeed did they understand very much at all of the school they would shortly be attending, the Baudelaires felt something they had scarce allowed themselves to feel since unfortunate events began plaguing their lives. They felt content.

 

* * *

 

A long journey can be tedious (a word which here means terribly dull), but a long journey in the company of good friends can be very pleasant indeed. Violet, Klaus and Sunny were not sure yet whether they had found good friends, but sitting there with Harry, Luna, Neville and the Quagmires, they felt they may be close. Since the terrible fire that had taken their parents’ lives, most of the Baudelaires’ friends had fallen by the wayside (a phrase which means they had stopped calling, writing, visiting and generally being around), so to find themselves around youngsters their own age (even though, of course, they were all different ages) was a great comfort. And perhaps, the three orphans thought as the Hogwarts Express sped on towards the school all three were now quite sure was real, and where they may learn magic which would improve their inventions, reading and biting, their lives were about to take a turn for the better.

 

They were wrong, of course, but without the benefit of hindsight, one can never know one is wrong about the future. For now, dear readers, the Baudelaires have found company, they are on their way to an academy that is, by all accounts, magical, and not in the conjuring way, they are together and Count Olaf is nowhere in sight.

 

But if you read further in this woeful tale, the tables will turn (a phrase which here means, circumstances will change, and has nothing to do with an actual table being knocked over). Turn off your infernal ereaders now, and leave this story at its current place, where nothing has gone wrong, and imagine a lovely ending where they have a jolly time at Hogwarts, filled with adventures, sumptuous feasts and schoolyard chums.

 

For if you continue with this tale, you will see the other side of the table, and it is, I must warn you, unpleasant. Right now, the Baudelaires are in good company. And Count Olaf is nowhere to be found.

 

Not yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a bit fillery, but bear with... they are most definitely arriving at Hogwarts next chapter, wherewith they will be Sorted, and some miserable woes are in store then.
> 
> Ron and Hermione will arrive, don't worry, but they weren't with Harry at this stage in OOTP (I'm following the book timeline loosely until the Bauds go off on their own) so the orphans couldn't feasibly have met them yet.
> 
> PSA: After this point as well, I'm not going to explain everything about the wizarding world to the Baudelaires on-screen, or explain everything that happened to the Baudelaires/Quagmires to the Hogwarts crew on-screen. If you're reading this, you know the HP-verse and the ASOUE-verse, and it would be wasting time to explain things you already know. Therefore I'll only have things explained on-screen if necessary to the plot, and all the other conversations about the backstories of both universe's characters will take place off-screen at various points, so by the end of the next two chapters the Bauds', Quags' and Harry's history will be assumed knowledge for all the main characters.
> 
> This is mainly so we can avoid boring filler chapters where we have the characters explain to each other what we already know, and we can get on with the intense things that are to come.
> 
> Stay tuned: next chapter will feature the arrival at a certain wizarding school, a mysterious hat with an important task, rhyming couplets and an array of overly cheery house-elves.


End file.
